


Found in Translation

by Yttergrund



Category: Young Avengers (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Romance, Victorian Attitudes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2019-09-29 07:59:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17199638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yttergrund/pseuds/Yttergrund
Summary: Story of Teddy and Billy set in Victorian Britain. One is a translator in the Foreign Office, the other a foreign prince.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A year ago to date I uploaded the first chapter of My King, My Love and I never had intention of starting a third story as the MKML itself was a bit of an impromptu thing, but now… here is the first chapter of my third story. A Victorian AU (with a slight twist) no less.
> 
> This chapter has been sitting on my hard drive as a few fragmented paragraphs for some months now, but then couple of weeks ago I got the inspiration to write this thing in to a full chapter. I like the result quite a lot, and this is now a work in progress. 
> 
> As always, I can’t promise regular uploads, but this story will have an ending. I don’t start things and then abandon them midway, so if you start reading this story then don’t worry; it will not be left unfinished.
> 
> This story will probably be somewhat Billy oriented, though I will probably have some things happening from Teddy’s POV as well.

///\\\\\

 

**London, 1895**

 

Billy ran as fast as he could, clutching his briefcase’s handle and trying to avoid bumping into people. Sweat was already prickling under his starched collar but he could not slow his pace even as his lungs were starting to protest the belting pace he kept up.

“I’m going to be late, I’m going to be late.” Billy muttered breathlessly as he sped along the street, passing the Houses of Parliament on his right.

Only couple of hundred yards and he would be at his place of work; he could make it in time if he just kept running. Billy rounded the corner and the familiar soot blackened sandstone walls of the Home Office and Foreign Office building greeted him as he started the final stretch of his sprint.

Hundred and fifty yards, hundred yards, fifty…

Just as Billy stepped over the threshold and barged in through the thick wooden doors of the neoclassical building he heard the flat chime of the Big Ben rang out. He sighed in relief and smiled, he had just made it.

After taking a deep lungful of air Billy glanced to his right and saw his boss standing near the porters’ table with a look of displeasure on his face. The sour expression was not there because Billy had been late. No, it was there because Billy had in fact been on time and it meant that he had no valid reason to reprimand Billy for tardiness.

As he walked past his boss Billy gave him a quick nod and a bland smile.

“Good morning, Mr Kessler.” Billy said with all the meaningless politeness he could muster.

His boss glanced at him like one might glance at one’s shoe after having stepped in a pile of horse shite on the street.

“Kaplan.” He frowned and put away his pocket watch at which he had been staring when Billy had entered the building.

As Billy looked back towards the door he noted his colleagues’ late arrival and not a single one of them looked particularly worried of being late a few minutes. They didn’t really have to worry because the only person who’s late arrival was of interest for Mr Kessler was Billy’s. All the other translators could traipse in at noon and no one would blink an eye, but woe to Billy if he was even a second late.

Billy sighed and walked forwards, feeling his superior’s eyes on his back and half expecting Mr Kessler to call him back. Order to turn back didn’t however come and Billy slipped through a small door tucked into the corner of the atrium, heading towards his room. He walked down a flight of stairs and into the basement where his office was.

Billy called it his office but he had no illusions on what his room had been before it had been turned into his ‘office’. The space had been nothing more than a storeroom, slightly larger than an average one, but still essentially a broom closet. The room’s queer location was only more apparent when one took into consideration the people who roamed the corridors near Billy’s office; porters and custodians of the building constituting the majority of them.

Not a single other civil servant worked in the basement level besides Billy. All of them worked at least on the ground floor. The reason for Billy’s office’s lousy location was partly because of his low position in the Foreign Service’s hierarchy and because there always seemed to be an issue with the lack of space in government buildings. Though, the main reason was probably his boss’ mean spiritedness and the man being an utter bastard.

As Billy fished out a key from his pocket he glanced at the small plaque next to his door; _W. Kaplan, Translator and Interpreter._ He smiled and pushed open the door of his office, hanging his hat and overcoat on the hook next to the door.

The room really wasn’t much, a desk and a chair, a couple of filing cabinets, a large map of Europe on one wall and a bookshelf full of stacks of paper, and books piled on top of each other. Everything was dark until Billy walked over to one of the wall lamps and turned the small handle of the gaslight, lighting the hissing stream of gas with a long match; the room was filled with a white-yellow glow and Billy watched the bright flame for a moment before he placed the round glass covering of the lamp back over the flame. He was reasonably convinced that his little underground room wasn’t going to get the new, handy electric lighting in the near future, so the good old fashioned gas lighting it was for him.

There was nothing better than a risk of an explosion or a gas poisoning to brighten one’s mood in the morn!

Billy took off his jacket and with a sigh loosened his tie and shirt’s collar a tad, also opening the buttons of his waistcoat. Billy could feel the sweat beading down his back as it dampened his shirt, and he shivered slightly in disgust, cursing his misfortune. London Underground, the best tube system in the world, a system that never failed, had of course failed him the one morning he had already been running late. For some bloody reason the Westminster station had been closed and Billy had been forced to get off at St. James’ Park station, yes, to be fair, it was not far from Whitehall but too far away when you were already late and every second counted.

Slumping down onto his chair Billy fished out from his pocket a handkerchief and dapped away the beads of sweat from his forehead and upper lip. He leaned back and again sighed, relishing the peace and quietness of his humble office, which, Billy supposed, were couple of the redeeming qualities of his little underground chamber.

Seldom anyone, let alone Mr Kessler, bothered to barge in to Billy’s room. Billy’s boss much preferred his own clean office in the first floor to Billy’s cramped one, and rarely, if ever, he bothered to make the lengthy walk that involved two flights of stairs into the basement. Especially when there was the risk that he might bump into one of the custodians and to an uptight snob like Kessler the chance of having to deal with people with actual dirt on their hands was a cause for nightmares.

Billy raised an imaginary glass into the air and toasted for the rigid class division in the British society. He knew well the whole ‘ _Know your place_ ’ attitude that permeated the life in general and he had been more than once been reminded of his own reasonably lowly origins.

After most of the sweat on him had dried Billy leaned down and unlocked the large bottom drawer of his desk and heaved out the typewriter within, carefully placing it on his desk. It was his pride and joy and had cost a pretty penny, more than one and a half pounds to be precise, even though it was a used one. But the way the typewriter helped Billy in his work was more than worth the dear cost of the machine.

Pulling out from another drawer a file full of papers Billy grabbed the topmost sheet and started to read. It was in Hungarian, something about the increasing tension between the Hungarian Parliament and the Austrians. Nothing too interesting and Billy began the translating process, occasionally grabbing the English thesaurus to pick a word that would correspond in the best possible way to the Hungarian one.

If Billy during his short-ish career in translating had learned one thing, it was that it was far more useful to convey the intent and meaning of the original text trough inventive use of language, rather than to directly translate something into English because it often left out the intent and the underlying meanings of the source text.

 

 

About half an hour later Billy had translated half of the dry political report, when a sudden knock jolted him out of his state of concentration, and he tore away his gaze from his task.

“Enter.” Billy called.

One of the messenger boys who delivered files, letters and such between the different departments and between the Home and Foreign Office entered and passed a note to Billy.

“Thank you.” Billy nodded with a small smile.

“Sir.” The boy nodded back and left.

Billy opened the folded piece of paper, feeling curious.

_Be at Lord Salisbury’s office at quarter past ten._

_-_ _Kessler_

 

Billy swallowed thickly as the feeling of curiosity was replaced with a creeping sense of trepidation. He was going to meet the foreign secretary and he had no idea why he had been summoned by him. Lord Salisbury had only been in office for a few months and his position in the government was an unusual one, he was the Prime Minister but instead of being appointed as First Lord of the Treasury, the traditional position held by the Prime Minister, he was instead the foreign secretary. In that capacity he managed Britain's foreign affairs and also the domestic ones as the head of Her Majesty’s government. In him, two of the most powerful offices of the Empire had been joined as one.

Sweat was for the second time that morning prickling under Billy’s collar as he glanced at the clock on the wall; it was quarter to ten. It gave him more than enough time to walk over to Number 10.

Billy stood up, feeling shaky as he walked over to the small mirror that hung next to his coat and hat. Making sure his hair looked presentable and that his black tie was properly tied Billy grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair and put it on, giving the garment a quick brushing with the small clothes brush that hung from one of the hooks on the wall. Billy gave himself a once over; he looked like any other overworked and underpaid civil servant of the Crown. All of them looked the dictionary depiction of a bland bureaucrat, what with their black trousers, black waistcoats with black jackets, black overcoats and all of it crowned with a black bowler hat.

All black, as if they had crawled through a soot blackened tunnel. All in all Billy looked unassuming, plain and uninteresting, and that was good, it was what was expected of them.

He put on his long overcoat and grabbed his hat, locking the door behind him, and heading up the stairs. When he got outside he glanced at his pocket watch; it was almost ten and so he headed towards Downing Street. It only took him a couple of minutes to reach the start of the small street that disappeared between the large buildings surrounding it.

As Billy neared the unassuming soot blackened building, it struck him how ridiculously small the Prime Minister’s official residence was. Especially when the resident inside was the head of the government of the world’s largest and most powerful empire. Number 10 really looked more suitable for a young middleclass family rather than for the PM.

Outside the building the police constable wearing a short cape glanced at Billy as he approached, but before Billy could say a word the door was opened from the inside by another constable, letting Billy in.

Billy was left standing in the entrance hall with its distinctive black and white chequered marble floor, nervously turning his hat in his hands and feeling like a schoolboy who had been summoned to the headmaster’s office after having done something naughty. Just as he was starting to feel ill at ease from the vigilant constable’s eyes on his back, a man came down a flight of stairs and headed to him.

“William Kaplan from the Foreign Office?”

“I am, sir.” Billy replied with a nod.

“Good. You are just on time.” The man extended his arm and Billy grabbed the offered hand, shaking it. “I’m Grewell, Lord Salisbury’s private secretary.” The man introduced himself and ended the handshake. “We should go; the Prime Minister is expecting you.”

Grewell headed up the stairs and Billy followed suit.

They ended up standing in front of a polished oak door and Grewell knocked on it. Billy glanced at small carriage clock ticking on a nearby side-table and it showed the time to be ten minutes past ten. They were five minutes early but that didn’t seem to trouble the Prime Minister’s secretary.

“Enter.” Was called through the door and Billy walked in after Grewell.

 

 

Lord Salisbury was a bald man in his mid-sixties with an impressive beard and oozing self-confidence like most of the aristocracy tended to. He was looking at some papers as Billy and Grewell neared his large desk but raised his eyes when the aide cleared his throat.

“Sir, this is Mr Kaplan from the Foreign Office’s translation service.”

“Excellent.” The Prime Minister said and continued. “You may leave us, Grewell.”

“Sir.” The Prime Minister’s secretary nodded politely and left the room, leaving Billy standing there in front of the one of the world’s most powerful men.

There was only a short moment of silence but it seemed to stretch into infinity until the Prime Minister broke it with an utterly unexpected question.

“What do you know about the Kingdom of Skrull?”

“I, well…” Billy managed to utter, feeling slightly baffled by the utterly unexpected query. “It’s a small nation in the Alps, sir, surrounded by Germany to the north, Italy to the south, France to the west and Austria to the east. They are, as you said, sir, a monarchy. The current head of state is Queen Helena II but not much else is known of their government. They have diplomatic relationship with rest of the world and they do trade with their neighbours, exporting mainly timber and dairy products and not much else. And the final thing I know about them is that… well, it’s what most people know about them, or rather don’t. As in, they are notoriously withdrawn from the rest of the world and little is actually known about them. They keep to themselves and don’t meddle into matters of others and in return they expect to be left alone, and this goes back centuries. They take their isolationist policies to the extent that foreigners are only allowed to enter the country after careful inspection and even then they are only allowed to stay in certain well-guarded towns near the border that serve as trading hubs. So, in short, we know more about some south sea tribes than we know about the Skrulls.”

“Highest marks, Mr Kaplan.” Lord Salisbury said with a pleased expression. “You know more of the Skrulls than many of your superiors.”

Billy was about to answer but the PM continued. “I’m sure you are wondering why you are here.”

“I am, sir.” Billy nodded.

“Well, Mr Kaplan, we are in need of a man who knows Skrull and I was informed that out of all the people in the Foreign Office’s service you are the only one who understands it. Would that be the case?”

“Yes, it is.” Billy answered.

“Where did you learn it?” Lord Salisbury asked, looking curious. “I was told that it is a rare language and that they do not teach it in Oxford or anywhere else.”

“It is a rare language indeed, sir. As are all the other Finno-Ugric languages, but because it is related to rest of that language group’s languages, Finnish especially, it was reasonably easy for me to learn it on my own. Though I must admit, sir, that because I have no formal training in it I cannot say how good or bad my accent and pronunciation are.”

“Could you serve as an interpreter and translator if you would be required to?”

Billy was quiet for a moment, deliberating his answer for a tick. “Yes, sir, I believe I could.”

“Good. Very good.” The Prime Minister nodded. “You see, Mr Kaplan, we are now in a situation where we need your skills and services.”

Billy was again about to speak but Lord Salisbury raised his hand and continued. “What I’m about to tell you must remain as a secret for a few days more, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now, few weeks ago we received a proposition from the ambassador of Skrull to Great Britain. The Skrull government asked for a meeting, a summit between our and their representatives, in short; they are planning to open up a bit, and they wish to start the process of integration with the rest of Europe with us. You do understand the significance of such process, what it would mean for our national and business interests if we could be the first ones to forge agreements and treaties with them?”

“I think I do, sir.” Billy nodded.

“Excellent. Here is the plan for the meeting,” The Prime Minister extended his arm over the table and gave Billy a sheet of paper. “Their delegation will be staying with us for two weeks. The Skrull government also asked if it would be possible for their crown prince to accompany them so that he could get acquainted with British industry and culture, and as I don’t see any harm in that, Prince Theodore will be shown around the country and you will serve as his guide and interpreter.”

Billy suppressed the shiver of anxiousness. He wasn’t exactly what one could call a social butterfly and now he would have to entertain a foreign dignitary, _a royal_ no less, for a fortnight.

“How will you manage the negotiations without a translator?” Billy asked, pushing away his trepidation as he glanced up from the Prince’s itinerary.

“The Skrulls have assured that their delegation is well versed in English and they will also be accompanied by their own team of translators and interpreters.”

“Will it be an official state visit, the Prince’s I mean.”

“No, it was agreed that we would try to keep a low profile. Though, the news of the summit and of the Prince’s visit will eventually break and there will most likely be at least some kind of an official ceremony or ball held in Prince Theodore’s honour. Not in the Palace, though, perhaps in the Skrull embassy or in some other suitable location.”

“If I may ask, sir, when will the delegation be arriving?”

“During the late hours of Thursday, or in the early hours of Friday.” The PM replied.

“That’s a queer hour for them to arrive.” Billy said, more to himself than to the Prime Minister. “Sir.” He quickly added when realising his slip of the tongue.

“You are not wrong, Mr Kaplan,” Lord Salisbury added. “But there is a reason for it.” He added with a thoughtful look but did not elaborate. “Be back here at ten o’clock on Thursday night so that we may travel to the welcoming ceremony together, we will need your services from the beginning.”

“Understood.” Billy nodded. “Prime Minister, if I might make a humble request… Would it be possible for me to have rest of this day and tomorrow off so that I might brush up my Skrull?”

“Of course.” The PM waved his hand. “I’ll have Grewell inform your immediate superior of your short leave.”

“Thank you, sir.” Billy said gratefully.

“You may go.” The Prime Minister said and Billy turned to leave. “One more thing, Mr Kaplan,” he added. “If tomorrow morn I’m reading from the Telegraph that a Skrull delegation is arriving the next day… We will know who it was that let the cat out of the bag.” The Prime Minister’s look was a serious one.

“Understood, sir.” Billy said quietly and left the room.

Grewell who had been standing outside the Prime Minister’s office showed Billy out and he ended up standing in front of the Number 10, trying to wrap his head around what exactly had just happened.

“Right.” Billy huffed and headed back towards the Foreign Office, he needed his dictionaries and grammar books on the Skrull language.

When Billy was back in his little office, stuffing the books on Skrull language into his briefcase, he felt a rare surge of excitement coursing through him. This out of the ordinary assignment could be the most exciting thing that had happened to him in a long while and for the first time in months, perhaps years, he felt glad of his chosen profession.

 

 

As Billy strode towards Downing Street he could feel the dampness in the cool autumn air, the thick London fog was marvellously good at sneaking through even a thick layer of clothes; no matter how well made your apparels were eventually the damp got through every garment. It was only mid-October but there was a chilling bite in the air, especially in the night, and the fog was not exactly helping Billy to keep warm. As he rounded the corner Billy noticed the carriage in front of the Prime Minister’s residence and he hastened his stride, hoping to god that Lord Salisbury was not waiting for him in the hansome cab.

When Billy got nearer he saw that the carriage was empty and sighed in relieve, the stoic constable on guard gave him a quick glance but said nothing. As Billy brushed away an invisible piece of dust from his sleeve he realised that he had completely forgotten his gloves, he could handle the cold but the lack of gloves made him feel slightly underdressed. Before Billy could worry any longer, the door with the white number ‘10’ opened and the Prime Minister walked outside.

“Ah, Mr Kaplan,” Lord Salisbury said as he headed towards the carriage. “You are just on time.”

Billy opened the door of the cab for the Prime Minister and climbed in after him.

“Regent’s Park.” The PM said to the driver through the open window and tapped the roof of the carriage with his walking stick.

The carriage lurched forward and Billy found himself wondering about their peculiar destination. Why on earth were they going to Regent’s Park and not to Charing Cross station where all the boat trains from Dover arrived at?

Billy did not have the foggiest idea.

The streets of the capital were quiet, but not empty, this was London after all and as they neared their destination Lord Salisbury glanced at Billy.

“Well, did you manage to brush up on your Skrull?” He asked and lit a large cigar he had fished out of his pocket.

“I did,” Billy replied, hoping that his voice conveyed the gratitude he felt. “It was most kind of you to allow me to have time for revision.”

The Prime Minister hummed in acknowledgement and puffed his cigar, sending some of the smoke into Billy’s direction.

Neither man said anything for the rest of the ride; Lord Salisbury was keeping his eyes closed probably due to the late hour and Billy on the other hand tried to supress a fit of cough as the smoke from the PM’s cigar constantly tickled the back of his throat.

The carriage finally slowed down and stopped in front of one of the Regent’s Park’s gates and Billy gently nudged the dozing Prime Minister, hoping that the still smouldering cigar would not light his bushy beard ablaze.

“Sir.” Billy said and prodded the man slightly more firmly with his elbow when he did not wake up with the first push.

“Ah yes, thank you, Mr Kaplan.” Lord Salisbury said as he opened his eyes, getting out of the cab as Billy held the door open for him.

“You may go.” He said to the cabbie who tilted his hat and smacked his mouth at the horse pulling the hansome cab, leaving Billy and the Prime Minister standing in front of the park’s gate.

Lord Salisbury headed towards the gate and Billy followed but before they could enter their path was blocked by a soldier.

“Halt.” The man in uniform said, holding his hand up. “The park is close-” Then a realisation hit him. “Sir.” He quickly said and took attention. “I apologize, sir. I did not recognize you.”

“At ease, private. You are performing your duty as you are supposed to. Your orders are clear to you, are they?” The Prime Minister asked with a raised eyebrow.

“To prevent anyone from entering the park unless they have a permit to do so from the Prime Minister’s Office, sir.” The soldier repeated his orders.

“Good, good.” Lord Salisbury said and puffed his cigar, walking past the soldier. “Come along, Kaplan, no time for dillydallying.”

They entered the dark park and headed towards the centre of the grounds. Billy almost didn’t notice that more soldiers were standing in the shadows on both sides of the gate and if he would have had to guess; he’d say that there was a ring of soldiers surrounding the whole park.

Billy was still puzzled by the strange location for receiving the Skrull delegation, but he didn’t dare to ask the reason behind the peculiar choice of site for the welcoming ceremony. Though, Billy thought as they walked deeper into the park, he was probably going to get answers soon enough.

The two men headed northwards up the Broad Walk and then stepped off from the tree lined avenue and walked towards the expansive grass commons where a most unusual sight met Billy’s eyes; dozens or hundreds of lanterns had been placed on the damp, green grass to form a vast circle, or perhaps it was an oblong, Billy could not tell.

“Blasted weather!” The PM cursed as he nearly slipped on the slick grass, sodden by the thickening fog.

Lord Salisbury lead the way and headed towards a group of men standing at the edge of the circle of light, and as they got nearer Billy recognised few of the men; couple of high standing diplomats from the Foreign Office, the deputy Foreign Secretary, few high ranking officers from the Army and the Lord Mayor of London who was probably there to promote the City’s business interests.

It was a veritable who’s who of the establishment.

The gentlemen greeted the PM and began a conversation, ignoring Billy who was more than glad to go unnoticed.

Billy stood there quietly, eyes finally adjusting to the gloom of the park and he saw that there were other people milling about, clusters of men huddled together in the darkness; soldiers they were. Not officers though, just regular file and rank probably there because of security purposes.

As the minutes rolled by and the cold, damp air started to nip his fingers Billy shoved his hands into his pockets in a very ungentlemanly fashion, but as no one was paying any attention to him he could afford the little breach in manners.

To pass the time he slowly walked nearer to one of the group of soldiers and saw that they were standing around a large wooden post driven into the ground. There was even a large metal ring hanging off of its side. The piece of timber was actually thicker than a mere post, Billy realised, and more of a telegraph pole cut short than just a thick wooden stake.

Again Billy felt perplexed; what on earth would require that kind of posts to be pounded into the sodden ground?

Billy slowly walked back to the Prime Minister and the rest of the high ranking men, keeping his distance though. As he glanced at his watch he noted that they had been in the park for a half an hour or thereabouts already, and Billy hoped that the Skrulls would arrive before it was one o’clock. The late hour was having its effect and Billy was already yawning periodically.

Finally, after what felt like a small eternity, the stillness of the autumn night was disturbed by a sound. It sounded like a traction engine, Billy realised, as the sound grew louder slowly. The welcoming committee had also heard it and they ended their conversation as Lord Salisbury beckoned Billy closer.

The deep thrumming noise was getting louder and louder by the minute and Billy started to suspect that it wasn’t a traction engine making it; it wasn’t as deep or, in a sense, as slow as the sound that a steam engine would make. This sound was quicker and more… energetic. It sounded more like the petrol engines on the new automobiles that the posh socialites with more money than they could spend in a lifetime were buying.

Billy started to look around, trying to ascertain the direction of the approaching sound but he could not; it felt as if it was coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once.

Suddenly the Prime Minister tapped Billy’s shoulder with his cane’s handle, having noticed the translators searching gaze. He pointed up and Billy tilted his head up to look at whatever his superior was pointing at.

“That’s the reason we needed some space for the welcoming ceremony.” The PM said in a measured voice.

Billy’s jaw went lax from astonishment.

He was looking at an airship that was slowly descending towards ground. Granted, there was nothing new or peculiar in them, Billy had seen airships a few times before, and more or less every other week some adventurer broke some record with one of them; highest altitude reached, fastest airship journey from London to Paris, or something similar to get their fifteen minutes in the limelight.

But the airship Billy was gawking at wasn’t a small, rickety thing with a blobby sack of gas that could just about carry an engine and a pilot or two.

No, this thing was enormous, rigid and bullet shaped with large fins at its aft end. Well, the end Billy assumed to be the airships aft. The entire thing had to be more than 700 feet long, probably closer to 800, and Billy wasn’t even going to try to estimate its diameter. It was a thing that could rival St Paul’s in size.

There were large windows on its sides and there was also a compartment clinging to its bottom, and Billy realised that it was the bridge of the airship. Light was pouring out from all of the ship’s windows and against their brightness he could see that men were pacing around the bridge, in control of the engines that were placed along the flanks of the massive flying vessel.

As the behemoth slowly got closer to the ground there was shouting to be heard. Mooring ropes were being lowered from the airship, and the soldiers around the beams driven into the ground sprang into action, rushing towards the lowered ropes to attach them to the mooring points. As the soldiers around the ship managed to get a good hold of the ropes, one of the Army officers in charge shouted at a Skrull officer clinging out of a window of the airship, giving him some pre-agreed sign.

The Skrull withdrew from the opening and the engines of the large airship slowed down until they turned off one after another, the spinning propellers stopping one by one until finally it was quiet.

The ship ever so slowly got closer and closer to the ground; sixty feet, forty feet… until finally the bottom of the airship’s bridge was only about ten feet off the ground. It was almost eerie how the huge vessel was completely silent as it moved without the engines help. Finally the ship was moored securely enough that a sturdy looking wooden stairs could be rolled right next to the bridge’s door, it opened and couple of Skrulls climbed down to greet their English counterparts with handshakes.

When the stairs had been properly secured to the side of the airship and some extra lanterns had been brought nearer to light the area near the ship, Lord Salisbury started walking, the welcoming committee dutifully following, Billy keeping rear.

“I thought it would be smaller.” Billy heard Lord Salisbury muttering, more to himself rather than to anyone else probably.

The soldiers who had not been helping with the mooring ropes of the flying behemoth had formed an honour guard near the stairs and an officer stood there, ready to give the Prince full military honours.

The Prime Minister and other members of the welcoming committee formed a row, the Prime Minister standing nearest to the stairs. Billy somehow ended up standing at the end of the row, and because Lord Salisbury didn’t order him nearer he stayed there.

The few Skrulls that had already stepped on British soil suddenly straightened their postures and turned towards the airship’s door and the British officer commanding the honour guard called attention and drew out his sword, expectantly looking towards the stairs.

Finally a figure stepped outside, illuminated by the gloving lanterns on the ground and the bright light from the cockpit.

Billy had not seen pictures of the Crown Prince, well, no one had, but he had conjured up in his head two images of the foreign royal; one being a lanky, stuffy looking snob and the other being a middle-aged man with a pot belly and a beard, a bit like their own Prince of Wales.

But instead of a horse faced toff, or a balding womanizer, the man who stepped outside was without a shadow of a doubt the most handsome man Billy had ever laid his eyes upon.

He was a good bit taller than anyone else nearby and not only that, he was broad shouldered as well, filling the doorframe he had stepped through almost completely. As the Prince descended the stairs Billy noticed his golden blond hair, strong, angular jawline, and a body that looked like it was built like the proverbial brickhouse. The prince looked more like a heavy labourer than a blueblood. Yes, to be fair, the Prince was wearing an expensive looking dark suit and Billy knew that a well-tailored suit could do wonders in making you look fitter than one in reality was.

But… the fact that the suit’s fabric clung to forearms the size of Billy's head and snagged against biceps the size of a regular man’s thigs made Billy suspect that the Prince was in a _very_ good shape.

Billy swallowed thickly when Prince Theodore shook the PM’s hand. Lord Salisbury was forced to look up as he greeted the foreign royal, and the fact that Billy was the same height as the Prime Minister meant that the Prince was probably a head taller than Billy.

He would have to keep this hulking man entertained for two weeks, Billy realised, and in any other situation it would have not been an issue. Except now…

Now Billy was feeling the wrong, twisted side of him stirring. For so long he had been able to supress the needs and wants that were illegal and wrong, he’d been able to pretend that they were not there and that his attraction to his own gender was not there. He had almost convinced himself that it had been just a phase. That late nights spent imagining a large, warm body holding him, or hours spent looking at the lithe musculature of the Greek statues in the British Museum with appreciation and want had only been because of lack of touch. He had for a time though that he could just be normal, now however…

As the large blond slowly got closer, shaking hands of people much more important than Billy and exchanging words with them and the Prime Minister, the translator now realised that he had been so very wrong.

Billy closed his eyes for a second or so, steeling his nerves. He could handle his feelings and supress them. He had done so for years and he could - and he would have to - do so for the rest of his life, so doing it now shouldn’t be so hard.

Finally it was his turn to greet the Prince and as the foreign royal stepped in front of him with the PM in tow Billy bowed courteously.

“Mr Kaplan here will be serving as your personal guide and translator during your visit.” The Prime Minister said to the Prince as Billy looked up at him and suddenly all of Billy’s attempts to reign in his feelings were in vain, and his thoughts screeched to an abrupt halt.

The Crown Prince’s eyes were so very _blue_.

“Good evening, Mr Kaplan.” The Prince said with a deep, resonant voice that somehow managed to convey both strength and kindness at the same time.

“Good evening, Your Royal Highness.” Billy managed to utter as Prince Theodore held out his arm.

Billy grasped the large blond’s offered hand with his own and it completely disappeared into the warm hold of the Prince’s. The hand of the foreign royal was surprisingly rough, like a workman’s hand, and Billy could actually feel callouses on the prince’s palm and fingers. Immediately, and despite his best efforts to stop himself from fantasising, Billy found himself thinking how it would feel if that large paw would slowly trace up his side, the rough, warm skin against his own smooth one sending shivers all over his body.

What if those big hands would pull him close and the massive arms were to wrap themselves around him? Would he disappear into the lap of this man?

Yes, he would, Billy realised as he gazed up into the Prince’s eyes in a way that could be considered peculiar. Billy finally managed to dispel the appealing imagery in his head and he partially returned to the present, all the while hoping to god that Prince Theodore would just consider his ogling as him simply being star-struck by the presence of royalty. Which it technically was, though not in the normal sense.

Billy also realised that he was somewhat happy that he had forgotten his gloves.

“So, your job is to keep me entertained for the next two weeks.” The Prince said and smiled, letting go of Billy’s hand.

Billy found himself to be enthralled by the accent of the Skrull prince. It was distinctive and very unusual, not in a bad way, though. His pronunciation of words was perfect but his speech was clearly influenced by the Skrull language. It showed in the way in which his speech was without most of the cadences that the native English speakers had, making him sound a lot more direct and straightforward than he probably meant to sound. So if the prince would have not been smiling when talking, Billy would have almost thought the Prince to be cross with him or giving him orders.

“Yes, indeed it is, sir.” Billy nodded. His hand, still chilled from the cool autumn air, longing for the warmth of the Prince’s hand, and eyes still locked with the Prince’s.

“We have arranged your tour of our country to be quite comprehensive.” The PM said. “I’m sure you’ll be most impressed by the British culture and ingenuity.” There was a hint of almost imperious smugness in Lord Salisbury’s words.

“I’m sure I will be.” The Prince said while his eyes lingered on Billy, finally he turned away to introduce a man from the Skrull delegation to the Prime Minister.

It was like a key turning in a lock the way in which Billy fully returned back to the present when Prince Theodore’s eyes left his.

The British and the Skrull delegations were already mingling and even though Billy was there to serve as an interpreter he was not really needed. The Skrulls seemed to speak English well, and there were people, men and even two women, standing next to the little groups that had formed. From the way they had positioned themselves Billy guessed them to be the Skrull interpreters the PM had mentioned.

Finally the little informal conversation between the dignitaries ended and they started to move towards a procession of landaus that had appeared nearby. The Prime Minister and Prince Theodore had walked side by side to one of the carriages, the Prince towering over the older man as they conversed. Finally the premier took few steps away from the Prince and beckoned Billy nearer and he dutifully approached.

“His Royal Highness will be staying at the Savoy and you’ll make sure that everything goes without a hitch. Help him in any way you can, Kaplan.” Lord Salisbury said quietly to Billy who nodded. “Do not muck this up. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Billy said and swallowed thickly.

The PM hummed and nodded, and turned back to Prince Theodore.

“Kaplan will help with your check-in, Your Royal Highness, and will be at your disposal for the time being.”

“I’m sure we’ll get acquainted in no time.” The royal said and smiled pleasantly at Billy. “But, perhaps we should now head to our respective lodgings, for the hour is late, or early depending on one’s point of view, and I could do with some rest before tomorrow.”

“Quite right.” The PM said and ever so slightly dipped his jaw. “Good night, Your Royal Highness.”

“Restful sleep to you as well, Prime Minister.” Prince Theodore replied, watching as the PM walked back to his own carriage, and then he turned back towards Billy. Again Billy was captivated by the intelligent, blue eyes that gazed at him. “Shall we?”

The Prince opened the landau’s door, keeping it open for Billy. It really was the wrong way round; it was supposed to be Billy doing things like that, but not wanting to offend the foreign royal he climbed in.

As Billy settled on the leather seat he saw that a member of the Skrull delegation had walked to his Prince and was quietly talking to him. Billy could hear their quiet voices and to his relief he realised that he could understand the language very well. It was actually the first time he had ever heard the language being spoken and again he was relieved to realise that his own pronunciation of the language was quite close to that of Skrulls. A small fluttering of pride filled him as he realised that he had learned to speak a rare language all on his own, but this feeling was quickly cut short when he started to listen what was actually being said between the Prince and his aide.

“ _Hevosvetoisia kärryjä, kuinka viehättävän vanhanaikaista, Herra.”_ The aide said to the Prince with a small chuckle.

“ _Vanhanaikaista ja epämukavaa.”_ Prince Theodore replied. ” _En olekaan ollut tällaisen kyydissä sitten äitini kruunajaisten, mutta kaipa tähän tottuu ja tätä paria viikkoa voinee pitää matkana menneisyyteen, joten maassa maan tavalla, Oskari._ ”

Billy couldn’t hear more after that and then before he could try to comprehend the meaning behind what had been said the Prince climbed in to the carriage and settled next to him even though the opposite seat was free. The seat suddenly felt a lot narrower with Prince Theodore sitting on it, and even though Billy tried to press himself as close to the wall of the carriage as he could he still ended up being pressed against the Prince’s side. In the enclosed space of the carriage Billy could feel the warmth radiating off the large man and some instinctual part of Billy longed for him to press against the body next to him. Of course he never would, or could, do such a thing and instead he simply stared at his lap.

“I’m sorry I crammed myself next to you like this, I just like to face the direction to which I’m travelling.” Prince Theodore said softly.

“So do I, but I can move, sir.” Billy said lowly and tried to stand up but then a large a hand on his leg prevented him from doing so.

A shiver ran up Billy’s spine as he felt that large and heavy, warm hand on his thigh, and warmth pooled low in his gut as he realised just how big that hand was. The Prince’s strong fingers easily spanned the width of Billy’s thigh and they came ridiculously close to encircling the smaller man’s entire thigh.

“Please, stay.” The Prince said and Billy did as asked. “You don’t have to move for my sake, I know how unpleasant it is to travel the wrong way round.”

It really wouldn’t have been a problem for Billy to change seats but he thought it best to do as Prince Theodore asked. Not that Billy really minded it; the large blond’s closeness was already warming him up after the long stretch spent in the cool autumn night and there was something decidedly thrilling in being this close to another man. Billy however allowed the feeling to linger only for a moment before pushing it away.

Finally the carriage lurched forward and they were off. The Prince remained silent and as Billy did not know whether or not it was a breach of etiquette for him to struck up a conversation he remained quiet. They were soon leaving the park and through the window Billy could see the soldiers taking attention as the line of carriages passed them.

They were somewhere near Oxford Street when Prince Theodore broke the silence with a question.

“Have you been working at the Foreign Office for long?”

“A few years, sir. Ever since I graduated from Oxford.” Billy replied and from the corner of his eye he could see the Prince watching him.

“You studied languages, I assume?”

“Yes, sir. First the classical languages, Greek and Latin, and then I specialized in Finno-Ugric languages. Finnish, Hungarian, Estonian and…”

“And Skrull.” The Prince smiled. “ _Kuinka hyvin puhutte Skrullia, herra Kaplan_?” He asked in Skrull.

“ _Tarpeeksi hyvin, toivoakseni, Teidän Kuninkaallinen Korkeutenne._ ” Billy replied, realising that he had never actually spoken Skrull with a native speaker. “I hope my pronunciation isn’t too atrocious, sir.” He added in English just to be sure.

“It is very good.” Prince Theodore chuckled. “Better at least than my butchery of your language, I should probably do something to my accent. It must sound abhorrent to an English sp-”

“No!” Billy uttered before he could stop himself. “I mean…” Billy cleared his throat, feeling a blush on his cheeks. Luckily it was so dark in the carriage that the Prince could not see his reddening visage.

“You speak English awfully well, and I know how hard it must be for someone with Skrull as their native tongue to properly enunciate English. It must be difficult for you when speaking English that you have to switch from talking with the back of your mouth - as you do with Skrull and Finnish - to talking with the front of it.

The Prince looked surprised by Billy’s comment, but then he smiled in a pleased manner.

“You are quite right, Mr Kaplan. That was one of the more difficult parts for me when learning English, as was the fact that in English the stress of a word when enunciating it seems to be at utterly random places. In Skrull and Finnish - as you surely know - the stress is always on the first syllable so I get confused all the time. But I’ve managed to learn the language well enough now. Though at times it feels as if half the things I’m saying in English are tongue twisters.”

Billy huffed amusedly and they settled in to silence once more.

The Prince seemed - at least by first impressions - to be a rather mild mannered man, Billy felt. He had half expected the man to be haughty and uptight, despite his decidedly good-looks, or rather because of it. Maybe the two weeks Billy would have to keep him company would be an easier and more pleasant task than he had hoped for. Though, he had spent less than an hour with Prince Theodore and that wasn’t exactly an exuberant amount of time to get to know someone, so he would have to tread carefully. The last thing Billy wanted was to offend the foreign royal and end up getting booted from the Foreign Office for causing a diplomatic spat between Skrull and Britain.

The procession of carriages carrying the delegation finally turned on the Strand and the bright lights of the Savoy neared. Billy had of course seen the grand hotel previously, but the way in which the bright electric lamps of the building shined out of its windows, casting sharp shadows and gleaming off the wet pavements was still a marvellous sight to see. The steady and even light was so unlike the flickering and muted gaslight to which most people were accustomed to and it had to cost a fortune to have the electric lights in every room. But this was the Savoy and it meant that they offered to their guests only the best. Billy even remembered reading from somewhere that every room had their own bathrooms!

The carriage turned to the small stretch of street that lead to the hotel’s main door and halted, and despite the late hour the porters were already there to receive the Skrull delegation.

The Prince stood up to climb out of the carriage, having to crouch due to his size. Before Billy could follow the Prince he turned to Billy, towering over him and seeming to fill the small space completely.

“I do not require your assistance tonight any longer, Mr Kaplan, I’m sure my staff can handle the complexities of checking into a hotel.”

“But Lord Salisbury ordered me to m-”

Billy was trying to get up but then a warm hand on his shoulder kept him seated. That warm tingly feeling was there again.

“We’ll manage, Mr Kaplan.” Prince Theodore said and still held his hand on the smaller man’s shoulder. “It is late and if I need rest, you need it as well, so go home. This carriage should get you there in no time at all.”

“But,” Billy weakly tried to protest.

“Go. Home.” The Prince smiled warmly, but there was a hint of soft authority in his words. “We’ll see tomorrow.” He stepped out of the carriage and was about to close the door when Billy finally managed to speak.

“Good night, Your Royal Highness.”

The Prince turned and popped his head back into the carriage. “Good night, Mr Kaplan. Until tomorrow.” He said warmly and closed the door, and the carriage headed away from the glittering lights of the Savoy.

 

 

After a while Billy realised that the driver had no idea of their destination, so he popped his head out of the window to tell the man driving the carriage his address, and surprisingly quickly Billy found himself standing in front of his building, trying to find his keys from his pocket.

After finally finding them he quietly opened the door and entered, creeping up the stairs, trying not to make a sound. Billy was reasonably sure that his landlady Mrs Buntley was still up despite the late hour and listening in. The woman was an incurable busybody and tattletale, but the quite low rent Billy paid of his small, but surprisingly comfortable flat, helped to tolerate that.

He passed his landlady’s door and climbed to the second floor where his and another tenant’s flats were, the ground floor was occupied by a bookstore and the first one by Mrs Buntley’s flat. Billy had rarely seen his fellow tenant and that was just fine by him, the man was also quiet as a mouse which was even better quality to have in a next-door neighbour.

When Billy finally pushed his flat’s door shut behind him he sighed tiredly. It had been a long day and he was bone weary, but somehow he didn’t actually mind. It was pitch black in his apartment and he blindly reached for a box of matches that he kept on a table next to the door, lighting one of the matches and then lighting the nearest wall-lamp. He didn’t bother with lighting the rest as his intention was to crawl to bed as soon as he could. He returned the matches to their spot, noticing his forgotten gloves, and a warm feeling spread to his right hand.

Suddenly there was a familiar soft press against his shin and Billy leaned down to pick up his cat.

“Hello, Tommy.” Billy murmured and pressed a kiss on the white cat’s head. “Sorry to wake you up.”

The cat just blinked slowly and purred, looking at Billy with its emerald green eyes.

As the room was bathed in a soft, yellow glow of the gaslight, Billy gave a quick look around his front room. Which in fact was also his dining room, parlour, kitchen and study. His bedroom, blessedly, was a separate room and on the backside of the house, away from the busy street, making it quiet and cosy.

He carried his cat on the sofa and put it there but Billy’s cat rarely stayed in one spot for long and before Billy could even turn the feline was already weaving its lithe body between his legs.

“I fed you when I left.” Billy said as the cat kept head-butting against his shins.

Tommy meowed.

“You can’t be hungry.” Billy chuckled and leaned down to pet his cat.

Tommy meowed again.

“Fine, you bottomless pit.” Billy smiled and took off his overcoat and grabbed an apple, bread and some cheese from his mall pantry for himself, and some corned beef for his cat. Both dug in to their late meal with gusto.

“I had a peculiar evening, well, night I suppose.” Billy said to the cat who was now watching him. “I met a man today.”

Tommy turned his ears in an inquisitive manner.

“I now know why you like to sit in my lap.” Billy said with a wistful smile.

The cat’s tail flicked itself couple of times against the rug and green eyes kept looking at Billy, as if the animal knew exactly what was going on inside its owners head. Billy could have sworn that there was a knowing smirk on the cat’s lips. Could cats even smirk?

“I am a bit nuts aren’t I.” Billy said lowly and leaned to scratch his cat behind its ear. “My only friend is a cat and I keep talking to the said cat as if it can understand me.”

Tommy again started to purr.

“Maybe you can understand me, who knows? Perhaps Hamlet was right that: ‘there are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy’.” Billy quoted the Bard. “Though perhaps nothing I say is of interest to you, perhaps you are just planning your next half an hour session of licking your arsehole.”

Tommy ceased its purring and glanced at Billy, then trotted away with its tail up, hiding under the small sofa.

“Great.” Billy sighed and stood up. “I somehow manged to offend my cat. How the hell will I manage to keep myself from putting my foot in my mouth around the Prince?”

Unfortunately Tommy was not in the mood of giving advise, not that Billy’s cat usually was. Billy might have been in the habit of talking to his cat, but replies hadn’t yet happened and he wasn’t quite enough cracked to expect answers from the snow white animal.

After trying, and failing, to coax Tommy from under the sofa Billy untied his tie and sighed in relief when he popped open couple of the topmost buttons of his shirt, and after a quick trip to the bathroom Billy undressed himself fully of his day clothes. He folded his shirt and trousers neatly on a chair and put on a soft dressing gown and some comfortable slippers.

He shared the toilet/bathroom with his neighbour as neither flat had their own. Though not having his own privy was occasionally a nuisance, especially when he urgently had to spend a penny, not having to use an outhouse more than outweighed that annoyance.

After washing his teeth by the washstand and turning off the flow of gas and thus extinguishing the flame, Billy retired to his bedroom in the light of a small candle stub held in a candleholder. When he blew out the flame and slipped between the cool sheets he sighed contently, for a moment reminiscing the past day.

Almost instantly his thoughts returned to the foreign royal and more importantly to his handsome looks. Again Billy allowed his mind to conjure up images of the broad-shouldered man with thick arms and legs embracing him. Billy often found himself thinking about such closeness, of course his imagination stretched to much more intimate imaginary as well, but mainly in his mind’s eye he pictured himself sharing soft lingering caresses with someone, and Sunday mornings spent lazing in bed.

His mind suddenly came up with a most appealing image where Prince Theodore was sprawled on Billy’s small bed, barely fitting in, while he himself was snugly tucked against the large blond’s side, with bulky, muscled arms wrapped around him and his head resting on the Prince’s chest.

Prince Theodore would probably be muttering sweet-nothings into his ear, with his deep, resonant voice and running his fingers through Billy’s dark strands. What would the Prince be saying? Billy had no idea, but he suddenly wanted to hear his own name being said in that wonderfully peculiar accent, “Billy” he muttered under his breath, trying to mimic the Prince’s voice.

It was silly, really, but it brought a smile on his lips. But what name would Billy use of Prince Theodore?

Just saying ‘Theodore’ felt too formal, to official. Maybe… Theo? Or perhaps Teddy?

“Teddy.” Billy whispered into the quiet room.

It sounded wonderful, to say it out loud. What would it feel like to whisper it against the man’s neck as he breathed in his scent and as warm, safe arms held him? Billy could almost feel those big arms on him, around him and the warmth of the large man next to him. How would he feel?

He would have to feel safe, Billy thought the second time that night, in that large, warm lap he would have to feel safe and cared-for in the way he so much yearned.

His little, wonderful dream-world however suddenly disappeared when the cold reality set in. Of course he knew that he was never going to experience such things with Prince Theodore, but the more disheartening realisation was that he was probably never going to experience such things with any other man neither.

Of course society had always hounded men like Billy; prosecutions on charges of gross indecency being regular occurrence, but after Oscar Wilde’s trial earlier that year the public and officials had become almost hysterical and frenzied in their efforts of weeding out the inverts from the British society.

Billy had read the articles and the stories, Wilde had been crucified in court and the man had been sentenced to serve the maximum two years of hard labour. All of the British society had damned him and all the likes of him, the talk around the Wilde affair had been extensive and it still made Billy sick to his stomach, the thought that that poor man had been so utterly destroyed, and that it could happen to anyone like him, to Billy as well.

And that was the reason Billy was so afraid, he would never have the courage to go to the places where men and women like him gathered, where you could be yourself just for a little while and meet someone. Those places with low lighting and cigar smoke, places where men could dance with one another and women could wear men’s clothing and vice versa. Those places were for people with more courage than Billy, but he was a coward and would remain so, he would never dare to set foot in one of those places even though he so much wanted to.

It was the utter fear of being caught that doomed him to a life of solitude, the fear that if he ever was to be found in other man’s embrace he would be dragged so quickly in front of a judge that his feet wouldn’t even touch the ground. He’d end up in Pentonville or Newgate doing hard labour and after a while be released without a job, or place to stay, and as an object of disgust in the eyes of society.

The warm, soft feeling he had gotten from his little fantasy was replaced with a cold, horrid sense of isolation and Billy stared up at the ceiling and grabbed an extra pillow that lay next to him, squeezing it with all of his might against his chest.

It did absolutely nothing to help with the immense sense of loneliness that dwelled deep within him; the feeling only grew stronger in the lone hours of the night.

What however helped a bit was the small ball of warmth that settled next to him, purring softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Kingdom of Skrull is situated in this world in the spot where Switzerland is in ours, though I imagine it to be slightly bigger, incorporating parts of western Austria and southern Germany.
> 
> Hevosvetoisia kärryjä, kuinka viehättävän vanhanaikaista, Herra. = Horse drawn carriages, how delightfully old-fashioned, sir.
> 
> Vanhanaikaista ja epämukavaa. En olekaan ollut tällaisen kyydissä sitten äitini kruunajaisten, mutta kaipa tähän tottuu ja tätä paria viikkoa voinee pitää matkana menneisyyteen, joten maassa maan tavalla, Oskari. = Old-fashioned and uncomfortable. I haven’t been in one these since the coronation of my mother, but I suppose one can get used to this and this couple of weeks could be considered as a trip to the past, so when in Rome, do as the Roman's do, Oskari.
> 
> Kuinka hyvin puhutte Skrullia, herra Kaplan? = How well do you speak Skrull, Mr Kaplan?
> 
> Tarpeeksi hyvin, toivoakseni, Teidän Kuninkaallinen Korkeutenne. = Well enough, I hope, Your Royal Highness.
> 
> The Skrull language in this is Finnish. I could not be bothered to come up with a made-up language from scratch so I just used my native Finnish, and as it is a somewhat throaty language, and I’ve always thought that Skrull should be a throaty language, I thought it suitable.
> 
> I will always provide translations as the Google Translate is ridiculously bad at translating Finnish to English and vice versa.
> 
> Do leave comments if you have questions or ideas, or just want to chat.
> 
> Have a happy New Year!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well… It has been a while and I can only offer my sincere apologies for the hideously long wait between the chapters.

///\\\\\

 

Billy hunched his shoulders and shuddered because of the cold wind. The weather had not changed that much from yesterday and was still a few degrees colder than it ought to have been in October. But the British people lived on a damp rock surrounded by sea on all sides, so it was somewhat pointless to complain about the weather being somewhat humid and unpredictable for most of the year. Not that Billy and all his countrymen didn’t complain about it vociferously.

Billy took out his pocket watch to see the time and the clock showed it to be a couple of minutes past nine. The Prince and his entourage were late but that was to be expected because of his late arrival yesterday. Though, the Translator still hoped that the foreign royal would arrive soon as the wind was positively arctic, and he had already stood outside in the bracing wind for good twenty minutes.

To draw his mind away from what was probably a case of slowly on setting hypothermia Billy glanced up at the wide pediment of the British Museum. He had always liked the building and its clean symmetry, the Ionian columns and the simple yet beautiful decorations. The large museum looked like a Greek temple that someone had plucked up from the warm climate of the Mediterranean and plopped down in the middle of London, though what slightly reduced the similarities between the museum and a Greek temple was the British Museum’s ugly dark colour. The building’s lightly coloured sandstone was blackened by soot and smog like every other building in the capital, but that was the price you had to pay when factories and mills were allowed to belch out acrid smoke from their chimneys with little to no regard to anyone else. Britain was indeed the workshop of the world, dirty one though.

Inside the museum however order and cleanliness both reigned supreme, objects in the display cases in perfect order and the statues spotless and pristine, not a single blemish on any of the Babylonian sculptures, Assyrian tablets, or Greek statues… Billy should know, as he had spent a lot of time in the hall where the Greek art was kept and he had at some point _almost_ managed to convince himself that he had spent all of those hours ogling at the statues only as an avid admirer of the Antiquity. He scoffed at himself as that little self-deceit had been utterly broken last night.

Billy sighed heavily and stared at his feet. How on earth was he going to manage the next fortnight when he had to spend it with a living, breathing Greek god? Billy swallowed thickly and shivered, and it wasn’t because of the cold wind. Again, those images that were wrong and illegal swirled in his head, images of a towering, warm body pinning him against a wall, or large and gentle hands, definitely not woman’s, caressing his body as his own hands roamed over broad shoulders and strong, muscled back.

Billy closed his eyes, clenched his fists so tightly that it hurt his knuckles, and thought of what would happen to him if he was found doing such things. Images of constables, courtrooms, rough handed prison guards and penury flashed in his mind and Billy clung to that sickening feeling he got from them in a vain attempt dispel his debased fantasies.

It didn’t work, instead he just imagined himself being taken to some place where he wasn’t considered a disgusting degenerate and criminal, being whisked away to some fantasy-land by some fairy-tale prince to have his happily ever after. It really wasn’t by chance that that prince in his little fantasy had blue eyes and blond hair, and a smile so kind and gentle that you could lose yourself in it.

Billy again shivered, bit his lower lip hard and dragged himself back to the real world, the bracing wind helping him to do it and again the only thing making him tremble.

And, because faith had a twisted sense of humour, of course ten seconds from when Billy had raised his gaze up, Prince Theodore was walking towards him, accompanied by another man.

As the blond man got closer Billy wanted to wince out loud because of how handsome the Prince looked, but obviously he kept his peace.

The Skrull Prince looked dashing even in the drab light of a breezy October morning. He was wearing a black suit that in a mouth-wateringly perfect way highlighted his muscular build, the long overcoat made from fine wool doing very little to hide the broadness of his shoulders or the thickness of his arms. Prince Theodore’s cravat was a beautiful shade of emerald green and the golden tie pin that kept it in place was probably worth more than Billy made in half a year. The immaculate outfit was made complete by the top hat the prince was wearing, and Billy for a second thought that he looked better without any headwear, but he pushed away such thoughts and schooled his expression into a polite one instead of one of almost longing.

“Good morning, Your Royal Highness.” Billy said and bowed when the Prince got closer.

“Good morning to you too, Mr Kaplan.” The Prince replied with a bright smile and took off the glove from his right hand, offering his hand.

Billy hurriedly removed his own glove and politely grasped the outstretched hand, again his hand disappeared into the Prince’s large paw, sending all sorts of wonderful shivers coursing up his back.

“I do apologise for my tardiness,” The Prince said with a small apologetic smile. “I overslept and the carriage we took seemed to take its good time in getting us here, I hope that you didn’t have to wait for us for too long.”

“I’ve only been here for a few minutes myself, sir.” Billy lied and ended the handshake. “And as we don’t have a particularly tight schedule today, being late is hardly a matter.”

“I’m glad to hear.” Prince Theodore replied and turned to the man accompanying him. “I would like you to meet my adjutant, Captain Oskari Raappa.”

“Captain.” Billy nodded and held out his arm, and the Prince’s adjutant shook his hand in reply.

“Mr Kaplan.” He said, giving Billy a small nod in return.

Turning his attention back to the Prince, the translator cleared his throat. “If you don’t mind me asking, sir, are there more people accompanying you today?”

“No.” Prince Theodore shook his head. “I rarely travel with more than a few members of my staff, and as we are trying to keep a low profile, I thought it best to do so now as well. So, Mr Kaplan,” He continued. “What are our plans for today?”

“Well, a tour of the British Museum with the head curator and then, well…” Billy hummed. “My orders were to simply cater to your interests, so what ever you would like to see in the afternoon I shall try to do my best to make it possible.”

“A little afternoon stroll around town, that sounds wonderful.” The Prince hummed. “After you.” He held out his arm, gesturing towards the doors.

Billy again felt a bit weird, Prince Theodore was behaving like their roles were reversed, as if it was his duty to mind Billy and not the other way around. But instead of mulling on it any longer he headed towards the museum’s doors and the Prince took a spot on his left as they walked up few steps, craning his head back to peer at the pediment above them.

Once they were inside Billy made a pleased sigh, relishing the warmth after the freezing weather outside. Prince Theodore and Captain Raappa were staring up at the ornate coffered ceiling and generally taking in their surroundings, their heads turning to and fro.

A man in a dark, plain suit descended the stairs that led to the first floor and he had to be the head curator, as when he noticed the trio milling in the atrium, he headed straight to them.

“Mr Kaplan from the Foreign Office?” He asked from Billy.

Billy nodded.

“How do you do. Arthur Finch, the head curator at your service.”

“How do you do.” Billy replied politely and shook the Curator’s hand. “May I represent to you,” He continued and turned towards the Prince. “His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Theodore of Skrull.”

“You Royal Highness.” Mr Finch said to the Prince and bowed.

“Mr Finch.” Prince Theodore said with a small smile and extended his arm towards the Curator who shook the offered hand.

The group of men exchanged the obligatory pleasantries and then they began their tour of the vast museum.

Billy knew perfectly well that if the Prince would like to see the whole museum, they could not dillydally in one room for long, but after half an hour they were barely past the Mycenaean section of the museum, the Curator happily droning on and on about the Palace at Knossos, so seeing everything the museum had to offer even fleetingly was not going to happen.

As the Translator was studying a painted vase on a plinth, a low voice near his ear nearly gave him a heart attack. “Maybe we could move onwards on our own?” Prince Theodore murmured.

Billy glanced at the Curator who was explaining something to Captain Raappa who looked interested and attentive, keenly listening their guide.

“Yes, maybe we could, sir.” Billy replied and followed the Prince to the next room.

Of course Billy knew the room’s display beforehand, having spent many hours there on his own, but still he felt a small guilty twinge at the pit of his belly when seeing the Greek and Roman sculptures on their plinths. The Prince was already studying one of the marble artworks and so Billy quietly walked to opposite direction and away from him. He wasn’t going to risk it, to have the Prince see in his eyes something more than regular artistic admiration towards the naked male forms.

Billy wandered to one of his favourite works in the room, a marble statue of an athlete stooping to throw a discus. It was a beautiful piece of art; the way in which the muscles on the athlete’s body flexed or bunched in the right places, and how the man’s shapely right arm was extended back to lob the discus with all his might, that always left Billy awed by the skill of the sculptor, but also slightly wanting. Even now he was looking at the statue with that wrong kind of appreciation.

What made things even worse was the way in which he was starting to see in the place of the lithely build youth a bigger, wider bodied man. A man beyond the Greek ideal of an agile athlete; a man with broader, larger shoulders and with much thicker arms, with bulging biceps and triceps. His wide body supported by a pair of tree trunk legs with shapely calves and thick, heavily muscled thighs. A man who was more a Farnese Hercules than Myron’s Discobolus. Again, his imagination had decided to run amok and use the very real, very alive man in the room with Billy as its source material for the sinful images. Billy lowered his gaze in shame down somewhere near the statue’s toes and sighed quietly, closing his eyes.

He pulled in through his nose few calming breaths and then moved onwards to look at yet another statue, though his mind was still wandering in such a manner that he didn’t notice when Prince Theodore walked to him him, not until there was a warm, towering presence right behind him. So close in fact, that he could feel the radiating warmth of the Prince’s huge body on his neck and the scent his expensive cologne.

“I’ve always wondered how they sculpted these pieces.” The Crown Prince said, his smooth accented bass making Billy shiver all over. “Did they have sketches of a body, or a smaller miniature sculpture as a guide, or…”

Billy could have sworn, even though he couldn’t see it, that the Prince had leaned just a little bit closer.

“Or did they have nude models to base their works on? What do you think, Mr Kaplan?”

“I…” Billy said, though it came out as a slightly shuddery breath. “I suppose it was all of them, probably, Your Royal Highness.” He managed to utter, his legs feeling like jelly and brief images of the Prince saying much different sorts of things to him occupying his thoughts.

“Maybe you are right.” The Prince hummed deep in his throat and Billy again just quaked minutely, praying to god that the other man didn’t notice it.

God, if Prince Theodore knew what Billy was imagining, he’d probably beat him to the inch of his life or something worse, but he didn’t know, and Billy had to make sure it remained so. So, despite his beating and wanting heart, he stayed still and pretended that he wasn’t full of depraved, sinful want. Finally, the Prince walked away and Billy, after a short breather, turned to follow him and a moment later the Curator and Captain Raappa joined them in the next room.

Billy didn’t really take note of the tour after that, he just followed the group and allowed the Prince and the other men to do most of the talking. Prince Theodore’s grasp of English was good enough for him to manage just fine without any aid from the Translator, and so Billy could use the quiet time to just observe and listen the Prince.

The image Billy began to have of the Prince was an image of an earnest, perhaps even a kind man. He truly seemed to be interested to hear out the Curator and his perhaps slightly over enthusiastic narrations, making insightful queries here and there between their guide’s ramblings. It was becoming rather apparent that he had received an extensive education, so the Prince wasn’t just a pretty face, and Billy just felt the little flutters of his heart settling in more firmly. ‘Brain and brawn’ his mind helpfully provided, and he just wanted to slap himself.

Beneath Billy’s wanting there also lingered a tiny sliver of envy towards the Prince. He seemingly had it all; the looks, the money, powers both political and physical, standing… He was a Crown Prince and royalty and even though that meant that he lived in the limelight, it also meant that he was probably quite untouchable, he could do anything he wanted, within reason though. Of course, there was probably some highborn lady waiting for the Prince back home, but he could probably do things Billy could only dream about if he was so inclined to. He wouldn’t have to worry about police or officials if he wanted to do something not quite legal or proper with someone, well… a man. Things would be just brushed under the carpet, just like they were in Britain if the person in question was sufficiently posh.

The rich got away with it all. It was never a son of someone with a tittle in front of their name, that ended up standing in the dock for gross indecency or whatever the charge might have been. Billy might have not done things himself in the university for fear of being caught, but he wasn’t so blind as to not know the amount of ‘experimenting’ and ‘fraternizing’ going on amongst the men in there. Sure, you might have been caught but what of it if you were a son of an Earl or Marquis. It was all about the money and connections and nothing more, be of high enough standing and with enough money and you could get away with pretty much anything, save murder or treason.

Billy and people like him could not be so careless and carefree however. Those who were studying just because some generous benefactor had graced them with a small stipend or had just enough money inherited from their parents to see them through university, like Billy, they had to always be careful and be afraid of slipping. Because if you made a mistake or were caught in the wrong crowd or with the wrong person, you fell hard and there wasn’t father’s safety net waiting below to catch you.

Billy was so deep in thought that he didn’t notice the group stopping and he almost bumped into Captain Raappa as they stopped by a table with assorted objects on it.

“I though you might find these interesting, sir.” The Curator said to the Prince. “British Museum is an universal museum and our collections include everything the world has to offer, and so we even have some Skrull objects in our collections. Not many, naturally, but some.”

“Do you now?” The Prince said with an enigmatic smile, glancing at his adjutant whose expression was also one of almost amusement.

“Yes, sir.” The Curator said, not noticing his guests’ expressions. “These objects were sold to us by a collector a decade ago. They are Skrull folk art, carved wooden objects, boxes and such, with Skrull inscriptions on them. Exceedingly rare of course outside Skrull, as Your Royal Highness of course knows.”

The rustic, colourful objects on the table indeed had writing on them, Billy noted, as he took a step closer. They weren’t made by some experienced artisans, they looked more home made and vernacular than anything else, just like the Curator had said.

“May I?” Prince Theodore asked and reached towards one of the carved wooden boxes.

“Certainly, sir.” The Curator nodded and the Prince grabbed the box, studying it with a small smile which at that poin was most assuredly one of amusement.

“Mr Kaplan,” The Prince turned towards the Translator. “Would you care to translate the text on the lid?”

“Of course, sir.” Billy replied and took the offered box, looking at the inscription.

_Kaalimaata perustettaessa on tärkeää muistaa, että…_

“What?” Billy huffed in a surprised and amused manner, looking at the Prince.

“Indeed, Mr Kaplan.” Prince Theodore smirked back. “Would you tell Mr Finch the meaning of the words.”

Billy nodded and cleared his throat, looking at the Curator. “Well… it appears that this text on the lid and,” Billy turned the box in his hands, quickly glancing over rest of the inscriptions. “And on the rest of the box are instructions on how to establish a cabbage field.”

“A what?” Mr Finch’s frowned.

“A cabbage field.” Billy replied, trying to sound somewhat apologetic, despite wanting to laugh.

“If I would have to guess” The Prince said and took the box from Billy, his thick, warm fingers brushing against Billy’s. “Someone has taken Bavarian or Austrian folk handicrafts and then added some Skrull looking text on them to make them appear to be from my country.”

“Skrull looking?” The Curator asked downheartedly.

“It’s Finnish, the language of the inscriptions, as it is close enough to Skrull that someone not understanding the language would be fooled.” Billy added. “Someone has probably taken phrases out of a Finnish book on agriculture and then just done what the Prince supposed.”

“So they are…” Mr finch said weakly.

“Yes,” The Prince said with a small, empathetic smile. “What’s the word… Mr Kaplan, the word that means that something is made to look a real thing when they in fact are not?”

“A forgery.”

“Yes.” Prince Theodore nodded. “They are forgeries.”

The Curator stared at the objects on the table and muttered something like “bugger” under his breath, then smiling weakly at his guests.

“I do apologise, Your Royal Highness. Perhaps in the future we shall investigate the provenance of ‘Skrull’ objects more carefully and not take the word of the seller at face value.”

“In that case recommend contacting Mr Kaplan here when you need help in translating something.” The Prince said and placed his large hand on Billy’s back, between shoulder blades. “He is an excellent translator and would be a great help to you.”

Billy swallowed thickly and blushed a bit, not from the Prince’s compliments, but from the way Prince Theodore’s large hand felt on his back. It felt so good, so good to have that huge warm hand pressed against his back and to have its warmth seeping through his coat.

“I would be more than happy to help.” Billy said and still the hand remained.

“I think we could use your expertise in these matters, Mr Kaplan.” Mr Finch said. “Skrull is a small language and the museum does not have its own expert on it. So, to have someone with recommendations from the Crown Prince of Skrull no less to help us would be immensely helpful.”

“There, it’s settled.” The Prince smiled brightly. “Next time someone offers you ‘Skrull’ objects, contact Mr Kaplan and he will sort things out for you.”

 

 

They continued the tour for another hour after that, seeing a few more rooms and exhibitions, finally ending back into the museum’s atrium. The Prince thanked Mr Finch for the tour and the Curator seemed to be touched by Prince Theodore’s heartfelt compliments.

It was just after one o’clock when the three men stepped out of the British Museum and in the few hours they’d spent inside, the weather had improved greatly, the sun finally peeking through the clouds and making the cool October air just a smidge less wintry.

“What would you like to do now, sir?” Billy asked when they had descended the steps of the museum and were heading towards the large wrought iron gates that led to the street.

“Maybe we could simply have a stroll though the city, the life in this city intrigues me.”

“Of course.” Billy smiled and they walked down Great Russell Street and then headed northwards up the Bloomsbury Street.

“What a lovely little park.” The Prince said when they reached Bedford Square and its Georgian townhouses. “Shall we.” The Prince nodded towards the little bit of greenery amongst the soot darkened buildings. “I could rest my legs for a moment.”

“Unfortunately we cannot, sir.” Billy said apologetically. “It’s a private park, and as I most assuredly don’t have a key, let alone the right to enter, we can’t go in.”

Prince Theodore stared at him incredulously Billy swallowed thickly, hoping that hadn’t offended the Prince.

“You mean to tell me,” The Prince frowned. “That in a city such as this, with a million strong populace and with scant green spaces amongst the smog tarnished buildings, there are places that are not open to everyone?”

“That would be correct, sir.” Billy said quietly, acutely feeling the Prince’s sharp gaze.

“That’s… deplorable.” Prince Theodore said and it was almost a growl, the sound sending shivers up Billy’s spine.

“Quite, sir.” Billy mumbled, the Prince now looking at the park with a frown.

“Absurd…” The Prince again huffed.

Then Captain Raappa was there passing something to the Prince, his frown smoothing away from his brow. It was a newspaper, Billy realised, that the Captain had brought to the Prince. Billy hadn’t even noticed the Adjutant’s departure, or had he even been with them all the time? Billy really had been so focused on Prince Theodore for a while since leaving the museum that he had almost forgot his aide was there accompanying them.

“Well, took the papers long enough to get the story out.” The Prince said and passed the paper to Billy.

**Zeppelin In Regent’s Park**

Was printed in huge font on the first page and Billy’s gaze slid down to read the article headline. ‘A royal zeppelin from the closed Kingdom of Skrull has arrived at London, informs Whitehall’. The article continued after that to speculate what the huge airships arrival meant, wild speculations on the matter already seeming to be the journalists’ favourite approach on the matter.

“The cat’s out of the bag.” Captain Raappa said thoughtfully and the Prince nodded in agreement.

“Well,” Prince Theodore shrugged his massive shoulders. “It was bound to happen, really. You cannot really park a quarter of a kilometre-long airship in the middle of the world’s largest city and expect that to go unnoticed.”

Good god. Billy had realised that the ship was big but doing a rough conversation in his head and ending up with the mindboggling number of around seven and a half hundred feet still left him awed.

“Right,” The Prince suddenly said airily. “Lunch, Mr Kaplan?”

Billy barely managed to open his mouth before the Prince’s large hand was on his shoulder.

“Excellent.” Prince Theodore smiled and then quickly took off his black leather glove and stuck couple of his fingers in his mouth, whistling with such force that Billy instinctively hunched his shoulders.

But the loud whistle worked, as immediately a hansome cab pulled to a halt in front of them. Again Billy was left struck dumb by the way the Prince held the door open for him, as if he was the honoured guest and not the other way round.

“I’m sure you will find your way back to the hotel.” The Prince said to his aide before closing the door.

“I will, sir. Enjoy your lunch.” The Captain replied.

“The Savoy.” Prince Theodore said to the driver and the black carriage pulled away with alacrity, the driver probably hoping for an extra tip for haste.

After a moment Billy finally found his wits and managed to speak up. “Our tour of the city was left a bit short.”

“Eh.” The large man next to the Translator shrugged. “I’m sure we can do it some other time.”

“Certainly, sir.” Billy nodded.

It didn’t take them long to be at the hotel and the Prince indeed rewarded the cabbie’s swiftness handsomely, the man’s eyes nearly bugging out when seeing the amount of money placed in his palm. Billy as well was left speechless by the Prince’s generosity, and he thought that maybe he should advise him on the value of pound. Though, he was royalty, and therefore it was probably well in his means to be extremely generous with money.

Prince Theodore headed towards the doors and Billy followed at his heels, trying to look business-like and not like a lovesick puppy following its dear master. The door opened in front of the Prince like on its own, being pulled open by one of the bellhops inside after receiving a discreet sign from one of the top hat wearing doormen outside and Billy for the second time in a short span of time was struck dumb by something.

The lobby of the grand hotel was even more lavish and striking than he had ever thought. Everything was gleaming and shining; the deep-dark lustrous wood, the black and white chequered floor, golden ornamentation, everything spoke of immense wealth and luxury. Billy swallowed thickly at the thought of the prices of this place. He’d probably have to sell half of his possessions to be able to spend even a single night in the cheapest room in a place such as the Savoy, and the rest he’d have to sell to be able to eat at the restaurant.

Billy was just about able to keep his mouth shut and not gawk at the opulence like an idiot, when a man was already leading him and the Prince towards what Billy assumed was the restaurant. Their coats and hats were very quickly and efficiently taken from them, whisked away to some hidden cloakroom and then the Translator found himself in another grand room.

The restaurant was just as lavish as the lobby had been, though where in the lobby dark wood had reigned supreme, in the restaurant white, gold and red were the favoured colours and everything looked crisp and spotless under the bright light of the electric chandeliers. The headwaiter in greeted the Prince with a bow and a few polite words and showed the Royal and his guest to their table that was a well-positioned if one wished to have a modicum of privacy in the large room.

As the men took their seats, Billy quickly glanced around him and at the other patrons in the large room. He really shouldn’t have done it as he was immediately filled with a sense of unease. He most assuredly didn’t belong in a room like this. The fact was made painfully poignant simply by the way he looked. His dark, slightly worn, clothing stuck out like the proverbial sore thumb. He really looked like a man who had wondered into a wrong place. His clothes were clean and well made, but they hadn’t been terribly expensive even when new and were very unfashionable when compared to the suits the gentlemen around him wore and Billy simply felt ill at ease with the fact. His clothes didn’t look out of place in the Foreign Office with other low-paid civil servants, but here, in a place like Savoy… Billy doubted that he would have even been allowed in if he wasn’t accompanying Prince Theodore.

A waiter was immediately there to take their order and Billy stared at the menu, trying to decipher what each dish contained, but his French was sufficiently rusty that he had a hard time at guessing.

“Do you mind if order for us?” The Prince asked and Billy might have felt somewhat annoyed for being slightly patronised over, but the way in which Prince Theodore asked was polite and kind, so Billy didn’t mind it.

“Not at all.” Billy shook his head and the foreign royal smiled brightly.

“We’ll have _Soupe à l’oignon_ for entrée, _Confit de canard_ for main course and,” The Prince hummed. “And slices of _Clafoutis_ for dessert. As for the wines; with the soup bring something light, white perhaps… _Latour Blanche_ 1889 should do nicely indeed, a bottle of _Château Latour_ 1882, no, -81 with the entrée, and something sweet to cut down the tart of the dessert…”

“Perhaps a good Hungarian Tokaji?” The waiter helpfully provided.

“That sounds good, bring a bottle that you deem decent.”

“Very good, Your Royal Highness.” The waiter nodded and took the menus from them. He was about to leave when the Prince stopped him.

“Just a moment,” Prince Theodore turned to Billy. “Is there some food that does not agree with you, Mr Kaplan?”

“I… uhm,” Billy cleared his throat and stared at his plate. “I cannot eat pork.” He glanced at the Prince, half expecting the usual confused expression to be there, that was always followed by the realisation and quite often an unwelcoming frown when people realised what he was.

Prince Theodore’s expression remained pleasant however and he turned back to the waiter. “Is the _Confit de canard_ made with pork or duck?”

“Duck, sir.”

“Mr Kaplan?”

“That is fine.” Billy said quietly.

The waiter was off after that and Billy wished that it wouldn’t have been just the two of them at the table, as it meant that the Prince’s full attention was on him.

“Are you Jewish?” Prince Theodore asked gently, and Billy raised his eyes to look at him.

“I am, sir.” Billy replied.

The Prince simply smiled and kept looking at the Translator.

“You aren’t… bothered by it?” Billy asked tentatively.

“No.”

Billy just nodded quietly.

“Do you face a lot of prejudice?” The Prince asked quietly, his blue eyes serious and empathetic at the same time.

“Quite often.” Billy said bitterly. “And reasonably often straight to my face. As unlike the Rothchilds, I don’t have money and people don’t therefore feel like they have to feign tolerance.”

“I’m sorry.” The Prince said gently.

Billy shrugged. “I’m used to it, sir.”

“You shouldn’t be.”

Billy nodded mutely and just then the waiter returned with their wine. Prince Theodore tasted it and gave his permission to fill their glasses. Once the waiter had left, the Prince raised his glass and Billy followed his example by raising his.

“Here’s to a good day, and to you, Mr Kaplan, to an excellent translator.” Prince Theodore said, his smile open and kind.

Billy felt a heat rising to his cheeks. “To a good day.” He said and they proceeded to take a sip from their glasses. The wine was beyond excellent. It was better than any of the usual cheap clarets Billy could afford to buy, and he relished the rich but still crisp taste of the expensive white wine.

“Good?” The Prince asked with a knowing smirk.

“Yes.” Billy said and smiled back.

“Wonderful.” The Prince nodded. “I’m not much of a drinker, but I do want my wine to taste like something other than grape juice that has gone off.”

Billy snorted in a very ungentlemanly fashion, but the Prince didn’t seem to mind.

They had a lovely lunch after that, the conversation flowing quite freely, and the Prince was a keen listener and an even keener to ask questions. Billy for at least a couple of hours answered to all sorts of questions about Britain, its people and culture, arts, about every facet of life the Prince thought to ask about.

 

 

Finally, at some point long after the dessert, with their second cups of tea in front of them, they were interrupted by Captain Raappa. “I’m sorry to interrupt, sir. But you promised to have a meeting with our delegation after the negotiations with the English were done for the day.”

“I’m sorry, Mr Kaplan, but I do must meet the delegates.” The Prince said apologetically and stood up, Billy following suit.

“Of course.” Billy nodded. “Do you require my services today for longer, sir?”

Prince Theodore glanced at his watch with a thoughtful expression. “I do not think so.” He hummed. “These meetings quite often drag on and I don’t want you to sit here getting bored while waiting for me.”

“Very good, sir.” Billy nodded and followed the Prince to the lobby where the Royal gave him a rectangular box that his adjutant had passed to him.

“Here.” The Prince said as he handed over the parcel. “Until tomorrow, Mr Kaplan.” He took a step forward and suddenly he was right _there_. So very, very close to Billy. So close in fact that the smaller man had to look up at the towering man in front of him. “I can hardly wait.” Prince Theodore murmured and there was… something in the way he said it, something in his voice and eyes that left Billy just a bit discombobulated.

“Until tomorrow, Your Royal Highness.” Billy managed to breathe out.

One of the bellhops was there to help him to get his coat on and then he left the hotel with a glance over his shoulder, the Prince standing there and looking him go, his blue eyes never leaving Billy.

The Translator found himself being shuffled into a carriage and before he knew it, he was almost at his street. God knew how, as he hadn’t told his address to the driver. But he needed air to clear his head, so he popped his head out of the window and told the man to stop, which he did, and Billy hopped out, searching for his wallet.

“The fare’s already been paid.” The driver said and sped off, leaving the Translator to stand there on the curb with a puzzled expression.

Billy sighed and shook his head and headed for his building. As he walked around the corner his ears met a familiar high-pitched sound of a newsboy shouting headlines, hawking an extra issue to people passing by with varying success.

“Mr K!” A voice called over the hubbub of the street and Billy looked towards the person who had called his name. “Care to buy a paper about the Regent’s Park airship?”

“Hello, Bucky.” Billy said and smiled, heading towards the newspaper hawker.

Bucky was about twelve at most on Billy’s estimate, and perhaps even younger than that, selling newspapers around where Billy lived and a familiar face to the Translator from the neighbourhood.

“Where’s Steve?” Billy asked as he fished out his wallet, not really needing a newspaper but wanting to help the boy increase his quota.

“In bed.” Bucky said. “Just a small sniffle, that’s all.” He continued with an easy smile, but Billy could see the tightness around the boy’s mouth and the general weariness about him. Bucky looked worried for his younger friend and Billy understood that completely. They were thick as thieves and fast friends, the bigger and older boy always keeping watch over the tiny blond as they hawked newspapers on the streets.

Billy hummed and passed the coins to the boy, slipping an extra few along the ones for the paper.

“Mr K…” Bucky said quietly.

“Take it.” Billy murmured. “I’m sure Steve would appreciate a decent meal.” With that he headed along, leaving Bucky to continue his work, and after a few paces a voice again shouted ‘extra, extra’.

Billy’s feelings of discombobulation brought on by the Prince’s behaviour were for a brief moment surpassed by the down heartening feeling brought on by the harsh realities of the world he lived in. No child should work like that, from early dawn to dusk to just have enough money to feed themselves. He wasn’t sure, but Billy suspected that both Bucky and Steve were orphans. He had of course asked, but neither had said anything and avoided the matter completely. Billy didn’t blame them for it one bit though, as anything was a better option than the orphanage or workhouse, and he had grown just a bit protective of them, giving some extra money to them in hopes of helping them manage just a bit better than the thousands of their fellow children who had to live like they did.

Billy had lived his entire life in London, but still the disparity between the rich and the poor sometimes left him speechless. To see the glitter and glamour of London, the immeasurable wealth that the Empire generated for its imperial capital, contrasted so painfully with the squalor and suffering of the lower classes was beyond jarring. He had more than once been called a bleeding-heart soft fool for his concerns but being called that did not bother him. What bothered him was the way in which people could simply walk by a legless veteran form the war in Afghanistan or from the Boer War begging for coins. How on earth could they do it, to simply walk by?

Finally, Billy found himself standing in front of his building, still clutching the parcel in his hands, and he realised that it all had happened in a slight haze, like some part of him had never left the hotel. Once he was up the stairs and in the quiet safety of his flat Billy leaned against the door and let out a shuddery breath, trying to calm his nerves.

The short walk and the quick exchange with Bucky had not really helped at all to take his mind off the Prince.

Tommy was there suddenly, butting against his shin, and Billy scooped up his cat, nuzzling his face in its soft fur.

“Hi.” Billy mumbled into the white hair of his pet.

The cat made a small squeak and started to purr.

Billy cuddled his cat for a few minutes and then put it down and eased off his overcoat and jacket and slipped off his tie as well, putting on his favourite cardigan. He also kicked off his boots and slipped his feet into a pair of comfortable morning slippers. He puttered to the small stove and started to build a fire to get the kettle boiling and some warmth to his flat.

The parcel the Prince had given to him was on table, surrounded by piles of paper and other such paraphernalia, and Billy’s eyes constantly wandered to the rectangular box wrapped in brown, plain paper. He shooed Tommy away from it when the cat tried to scratch it, wanting to see what was inside the new, exiting smelling object.

Billy ignored the parcel for the next few hours, well… tried to ignore it. He read the newspaper he had bought from Bucky without really remembering any of what he had read. He pulled out some socks that needed darning and not a single sock got patched, remaining with the same number of holes as when he began. He tried to finish translating some non-important documents from work, that also ended up being done half-heartedly and with a frankly unforgivable amount of grammatical errors in many of them.

So, as a result, around seven in the evening Billy found himself sitting by the table, looking at the parcel given him by the Prince and finally his patience snapped. He tore away the paper to reveal a plain wooden box and when Billy flipped open the lid, a wine bottle packed in wood shavings was revealed.

Billy swallowed thickly as he took out the bottle. It was the same wine they had drunk at the lunch with the main course, a bottle of hideously expensive and decadently delicious French Bordeaux.

The dark bottle glinted in the light of the gas lamps, looking almost black and Billy placed it down on to the table and his hands were slightly trembling when amongst the wood shavings he fished out a folded note. He stared at the piece of paper for a moment and then unfolded it.

 

_Hopefully this will help to keep the autumn chills at bay._

_\- T_

 

Billy’s hand flew to his mouth to prevent a soft desperate gasp from escaping between his lips. He buried his face in his hands as the note fell from his grip and he shuddered, feeling choked.

Why?

Why couldn’t the Prince have been an arrogant and selfish, rude, imperious bastard that Billy could have hated instead of falling for him.

He now admitted it. He had fallen, absolutely fallen for Prince Theodore, fallen for a man that he had known less than two days. Billy had had infatuations towards other men, short fleeting moments of being smitten, but those had never lasted, never felt like this, and they had not happened in a long time. None of them had left him with the kind of almost physical ache of longing and want in his chest he now held for the Prince.

Billy pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes and desperately tried not to think about the large blond man and his smile, those beautiful blue eyes that looked at him in a kinder and gentler fashion than anyone else’s in his pathetic, lonely life did.

He didn’t want it, didn’t want the yearning, desperate feeling that it made him feel and yet every second he simply felt more, felt more drawn to the foreign man. Constantly his heart made him imagine things that he could not have, things his brain knew to be impossible and unattainable, but his rational side was ridden roughshod over by his heart.

But even in his aching heart, under all the wanting, in his desperate beating heart he knew that he would never have it. He would never have what he desired and longed for, have what had happened in his dream last night.

He had woken up at some point during the night and the dream had almost immediately started to slip away, the images in his head falling away like water draining from a cupped hand. But the feeling… god, the feeling from that dream had lingered and stayed, and Billy had never in his life wished harder for a dream to be true.

He hadn’t felt lonely.

In the dream and for once since his parents’ death he hadn’t felt lonely. In the one image that had survived from Billy waking up he had been in Prince Theodore’s arms, the large man whispering his name over and over again. Nothing else but that, simply crooning ‘Billy’ again and again in Billy’s ear as two large arms held him with infinite tenderness, their warmth warming Billy to his core, right down to his soul.

Billy’s other hand slid down to cover his mouth again, to prevent a desperate, hitching sob from spilling from his lips. The Prince, in the dream and during the past day, had made Billy realise something, not just that his attraction to his own gender was still there and how he found Prince Theodore beyond appealing, but he’d also made him understand just how desperately lonely he was.

He couldn’t even remember the last time someone had touched him beyond a brief handshake, and that explained why Billy in the carriage last night, and in the museum today had shivered and quaked from a simple touched. It wasn’t from want or desire only, he now realised, but from a desperate need for touch. To feel someone, anyone touching him with even a shred of kindness. The Prince’s brief touches, his large, warm hand’s gentle press had been the longest touch Billy had received from another human in years and it had ignited the flame that demanded more of it. More of warm, steady touches.

And that perhaps explained his dream last night and the continuous, little fantasies, explained that they were only about tender arms holding him and gentle, roaming hands caressing him. Billy was so starved for touch that his mind simply could not come up with anything more than that, any action beyond those rather chaste deeds so abstract and faraway that even his subconsciousness couldn’t come up with anything more exhilarating than them.

Billy felt the tears spilling over and he wrapped his arms around himself in a desperate effort to calm down.

It was like a tidal wave washing over him, drowning him in the irrefutable fact of him being so terribly lonely. The realisation hurt so much, being even more visceral than last night, the horrible awareness of his lack of any meaningful relationship to anyone that had gone on for years. He had no friends, no family. He only had acquaintances, colleagues, familiar faces, people he exchanged a few polite words with every now and then, but nothing more than that.

Then, one autumn night, Prince Theodore had come along and blown over his little house of card of self-deceit of not being a sick degenerate, and now, a day later, he had made Billy realise that he was a _lonely_ sick degenerate. The Prince had inadvertently and unbeknownst to him caused more damage to Billy’s carefully built walls in less than two days than cold, uncaring world had managed to in years.

Billy felt sick.

What would the warmly smiling, tender and earnest Prince with kind eyes do to him in a fortnight?

He would break him, Billy realised.

Prince Theodore’s smile and kind, gentle demeanour, just him being… _him_. It would leave him broken.

For the first time in years Billy decided to pray, clasping his trembling hands together he closed his eyes.

“Please,” Billy whispered into the quiet room. “Plea-”

The words died on his lips.

What was he even praying for? For god to take his sickness and deviant feelings away, or give him what his heart ached and so yearned for? Billy’s clasped hands fell apart and he opened his eyes, staring at the opposite wall with unseeing eyes, completely and utterly at a loss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise there will be romance and kisses eventually, the tag for Teddy/Billy is there for a reason. But I just wanted to have poor, Victorian Billy being at sixes and sevens around the hunky foreign prince for a while, feeling self-loathing and desire in turns. Internalised homophobia really is an awful thing.
> 
> Talking about hunky foreign princes: is Teddy flirting or is the concept of personal space unfamiliar to him? What do you think?
> 
> Translation for the short Finnish sentence:  
> Kaalimaata perustettaessa on tärkeää muistaa, että… = When establishing a cabbage field it is important to remember that…
> 
> When trying to figure out how Teddy looks in his suit, this picture by talented artist Aud Koch served as an inspiration: https://www.instagram.com/p/BQEWSR7leYB/
> 
>  
> 
> I will in the future endeavour to write new chapters to this story in a somewhat hastier pace, but this year in the University is a really busy one for me and this will undoubtedly have effects on my free time (writing time). Regardless, all of my stories are ongoing and not in any way abandoned or on the backburner.  
> Anyhow, have a great autumn and I would like to thank everyone for their support for this story and for my other stories as well, whether in form of kudos, comments, or just simple hits, all are greatly appreciated. Thank you!


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